


Roadside Assistance

by Tangerine



Category: Generation X (Comic)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-09-29
Updated: 2005-09-29
Packaged: 2017-10-21 04:23:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/220856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tangerine/pseuds/Tangerine





	Roadside Assistance

M was the only one who had a car, so Jubilee blatantly used her as often as possible. Which wasn’t _that_ often, because: a) The Man tried very hard to keep M’s car in the garage. Something about keeping things fair, blah blah blah, not trusting them to not escape to some place they shouldn’t be and blow things up, blah blah blah, price of gas; and b) M hated Jubilee, and mostly refused to drive her anywhere. Which ended up working in Jubilee’s favour this time, because M had actually agreed to let Jubilee come along without prodding, and at this point, everyone was desperate for even a little peace.

Everyone except Frosty, who had been the last hold out, even after Jubilee secretly called up Professor X and begged him to put in a good word for her. She had called Wolverine, too. And Jean, and Cyclops, and Storm, and pretty much every X-Man she’d ever met.

Fucking White Queen. If Frosty hadn’t had Banshee’s balls in a vice, he’d let them drive around, wasting gas, trying to get Jono to buy them booze and spending all their money on clothes, drugs and cheap hookers. All the things normal teenagers were supposed to do, in Jubilee’s opinion. Nobody on the team agreed with her, except Skin.

That was why Angelo was her favourite.

“We should do something crazy,” Jubilee decided, feet up on the dashboard, flipping through the radio stations. M’s car (European model, purchased by daddy) purred as they zipped down the uneven road, on an emergency mission to buy milk, bread and tampons.

 _This_ was the exciting life of a wannabe X-Man.

“Let’s get tattoos,” Jubilee decided, aware M was purposefully ignoring her. “I’m sure Miz Frost won’t mind so long as we sneak her name in there somewhere. I mean, what sort of team are we, that we don’t have matching tattoos? It’s pathetic. I’m really …”

“Idiotic?” M supplied helpfully, taking a corner a little too fast.

“At least let me find someone to buy us cheap vodka.”

“No,” Monet replied then paused before adding, “I only drink the good stuff.”

Jubilee grinned. “Oooh, our little M’s rebelling. I’m so proud.”

M rolled her eyes. “Hardly. I just feel like getting drunk. I’m overdue for it.”

“Jeez, what sort of friend am I that I didn’t even offer booze as the solution to your fucked up family shit? My bad, dude. I’ll rectify that as soon as I can find some dumbass willing to buy for me.” Jubilee nudged M in the thigh with her index finger. “Pull over at the next place you see, will ya? I’m sure I have the skills to ...”

“Leave it to me,” M said, cutting her off and smacking Jubilee’s hand away.

In what Jubilee suspected was Monet’s first act of rebellion, they skipped the little grocery store they usually stopped at and went straight into town. Town, where bad things happened to innocent little mutants, like cocaine and tequila and the Juggernaut, who had passed through sometime in the early 90’s to stop for donuts. The town was still talking about it.

Jubilee stayed in the car as M marched in like she owned the place, elegant and tall and so fucking stuck up that Jubilee was surprised she didn’t trip over something, with her nose in the air like that. Really gorgeous, too, in a way that was dangerous when drunk.

Dangerous for Jubilee, at least.

Maybe this vodka wasn’t such a good idea after all.

Jubilee vainly hoped that M would also grab a pack of smokes, so they could be really bad ass, but that was probably pushing it. Yeah, M was still riding high on that free, free, free vibe, but there were other things to contend with. Her whole fucked up family thing, for instance. Sometimes, Jubilee was really grateful she was an only child.

M came out of the store with a huge paper bag and some middle-aged guy drooling over her, offering his services to carry it. Jubilee tried to keep a straight face, because it wasn’t nice, she’d been told, to laugh at the humans, but sometimes they were hilarious.

M could lift the car and twirl it around like a baton, if she wanted to.

But she wouldn’t, and couldn’t, because they’d promised: no powers.

“Ooh, cute boyfriend.” Jubilee grinned as M climbed in. She nearly had her teeth knocked out as M shoved the bag in her face, but she couldn’t stop smiling. One Monet St. Croix finally corrupted by one Jubilation Lee, esquire. Life was so good sometimes.

“For the record, they didn’t even card me.”

Jubilee laughed into the groceries, which M had outdone herself with. She had grabbed all of the items on the boring list but had also added Twinkies, vodka, Cokes, a huge bag of Twizzlers, and an issue of Cosmo to laugh at because only Paige read that shit seriously.

No smokes, Jubilee noticed as she tore into the licorice, stuffing five pieces into her mouth then flopping a couple more in M’s direction, who grabbed them with her teeth. M could be all right, she decided, when she loosened up and tried to have a little fun. And it was a little weird to realise the chick who had annoyed her for months wasn’t this M.

Fucked up family, Jubilee reminded herself. But M was still annoying, and Jubilee was still a little pissed about the Everett thing. She didn't know what was going on with them, just that M had honed in on her territory, and hadn’t even been a little apologetic about it.

Not that anything would have happened between her and Everett. Nothing real, anyway.

They were halfway home, speeding across the wilds of Massachusetts, high on sugar and the bad music spilling from the radio, when there was a loud pop, followed closely by the sharp swerve of the car, Jubilee smacking her head on the window, and a Coke spilled into her lap. All of this happened again, in sharp succession, as M slammed on the brakes.

“Is it the Juggernaut?” Jubilee asked weakly, rubbing her battered forehead.

“I wish.” M rolled down the window and stuck her head out. “We blew a tire.”

Jubilee grimaced. “That all? I was kinda hoping for a better reason for my concussion.”

M opened the door and went to examine the damage. Jubilee eyed the vodka, totally sure it would vanquish her sudden headache, then sighed. It probably wouldn’t help, and even if it did, one-sided drinking sucked, and she needed M to drive her back to the Institute.

As soon as Frosty decided she wasn’t a menace to society, she was going to get her license, oh yes.

"Hey, lady, what's the hold up?"

M sighed audibly, and Jubilee decided to get up to examine the damage for herself. She ignored her sticky crotch and joined M at the rear of the car, where M stood, arms crossed and glaring at the deflated tire. It looked like the Juggernaut's whoopee cushion.

"Shit," Jubilee said.

"Indeed," Monet agreed, frowning.

"So it this where you impress the shit out of me and demonstrate the fact you can change a tire, and I can't?" Jubilee asked hopefully, casually waving a hand in front of her groin. The giant fuzzy bumble-bee that had been happily harassing her groin zipped away.

"No."

"Okay, then. So … you gonna fly us back to school so we can beg ol' Sean-y boy for help? Or hey, we can call your dad.” Jubilee shrugged. “I mean, it might piss him off, having to fly around the world to rescue us, but isn't that what rich daddies are for?"

"Why are you so determined to make me hate you?"

"You do that pretty much without my help," Jubilee replied, shrugging again. Most days, she didn't even take their rivalry seriously. M seemed to get off on it, though, and Jubilee liked aggravating her. She was tired of always fighting, though. It took so much energy.

M sighed audibly then sat down on the trunk, putting her hands in her head. Jubilee wasn't quite sure what she should do. She'd been thirteen when her parents died, still playing with Barbies, so it wasn't like she could just offer to change the tire for M and hope to gain brownie points, because nobody had taught her shit. That M hadn't killed her yet was a good thing, and Jubilee wanted to keep it like that. Tentative peace was nice.

"What are we going to do?"

"Read the manual, I suppose." M looked over at her, eyebrow prissily arched. "You can read, right?"

"I's surely can, Mo-net."

M rolled her eyes, but didn't punch her out, so maybe M was as sick as Jubilee was with fighting. Another move toward peace, Jubilee went to get the manual, though she had to ask where it was kept, and what it looked like. She even read the instructions out loud as M listened, making only three snide comments, which wasn't bad, all things considered.

Five minutes later, it all went to hell. The book had made it sound so simple, but this car was obviously made by the Shi'ar, because everything they did damaged something. The jack lifted the frame and scratched the silver paint, and when M tried to remove a bolt from the tire, it snapped clean off in her hands. And then it began to pour icy cold rain.

But Jubilee still shouted, "no!" when it looked like Monet was going to grab the car and hoist it up, bypassing the evil of the jack. "No powers. For any reason. Frosty said it, and now we have to live with it. She'll never let me out again, even if it's all your fault. Don't sentence me to an eternity of playing Clue with Banshee on Friday nights."

"What am I supposed to do? This tire is just." M waved vaguely at the deflated puddle of rubber, disdainful and pathetic all at once. The rain was coming down harder now, and they were already drenched. Jubilee actually welcomed the reprieve from her uncomfortably sticky crotch, but she was sure the allure of that would wear off soon.

"The answer is obvious," Jubilee said wisely, bangs flat on her forehead, covering her eyes. "We get in the car, get drunk and wait for help. Someone’s bound to come looking."

"And that won't get us into trouble?"

"Are you going to use your powers to get drunk?"

M frowned. "No, but ..."

"Then we've followed Frosty's golden rule. And we hope like hell it's ol' Irish who picks us up." Jubilee climbed into the car, pleased when M followed and didn't even complain about the leather seats. "And, really, detention might be good for you. It's fun. You get pizza afterward."

"Really?"

"Irish Catholic guilt. It's a beautiful thing."

M actually smiled, and Jubilee grinned back.


End file.
